Dance
by raspbewwies
Summary: "For although they draw close, so close in this dance of theirs, they pull away." He would be damned if he said it didn't hurt when she looked away from him by day, so casual, so much like a perfect stranger.
1. Prologue: Almost

_**Prologue: Almost**_

He lays his head on her lap, eyelids drooping over calm teal eyes, hands sprawled carelessly over her bed.

_(Almost vulnerable. Almost.)_

She dares to coil her fingers through his unruly white hair, exploring terrain, mapping him out. If he notices, he does nothing. His breathing is regular, tides that crash on a shore and draw back.

She knows the rules of their game.

_(Detach but feel. Desire but not love. )_

For although they draw close, so close in this dance of theirs, they pull away. Passion gives its way to cold greetings and formal inquiry, almost, _almost_, as if her memory was a continual delusion.

Kuchiki Rukia wishes, just _once_, it wasn't this difficult. He was here, with her, he was _bare –_

_(Almost bare. Almost.)_

But there were laws, there were traditions, there were rules.

The cold grips her like a vise, knots and lets go.

She closes her eyes.

_(The games we play.)_

* * *

He was a man of sparse words.

Careful, rational, cold.

_(This is their third night)_

He tries to understand why, meditating on the cold and the way her fingers thread through his hair. Why this crash course to disaster? Why he, why her-

For what are they, except broken? What do they say- the broken put themselves together?

Well, that was bullshit. They seemed only to dance at the brink of oblivion and he would be damned if he said it didn't hurt when she looked away from him by day, so casual, so much like a perfect stranger.

As if nothing could get through to her.

She is perfect in her distance. She is so achingly close.

_(Almost, almost, almost)_


	2. 1: It Takes Two to Dance

**A/N: Bleach is not my property. Standard disclaimers apply.**

**It takes Two to Dance**

Matsumoto Rangiku liked the spicy, bubbly side of life. She thought it made standing the lemons much easier.

_(A foxlike grin that haunts her dreams)_

When she can't find that side, she turns to sake. This is how she spends a splendid morning in the division's barracks, blatantly ignoring the mountain of paperwork infront of her.

Four years after the Winter War, and the only things that are different is her Captain has sprouted a couple of inches and Hinamori Momo went from an obsessed fangirl to a patient in coma.

_(A foxlike grin haunts her dreams)_

She begins to take another swig when she feels the temperature plummet.

Her Captain is _pissed._

* * *

There are certain things that Toshiro Hitsugaya considers part of his comforting, boring routine.

Paperwork filed neatly on his (forget his lieutenant) table.

Brushes in place.

_(In a perfect world, Matsumoto would actually be working at her desk)_

Absolutely _no_ sake.

His annoyance is mounting with every step he takes to her lounging form on the futon, grabbing the bottle of sake and tossing it in the bin.

"Get. To. Work."

"But taichooooouuu," she pouts. "It's such a beautiful daaaaaay, we shouldn't be working!"

"Do you want me to freeze you onto your chair? Because I will."

Obviously the concept of a frozen part of her much coveted assets doesn't go well with her, because she huffs and settles down on her chair, muttering something about _worse than the Kuchiki _and _damn that little punk._

He sits on his chair and rubs his eyes.

_(She had left before he woke up today)_

He takes up his brush and starts to work.

* * *

Today is not one of her days.

Her arms are piled with reports from her captain, because today of all days, _she_ is the one who had to deliver them to the Tenth Division.

_(Fate is a bitch)_

She bites her lip and walks slowly through the morning bustle of the Sereitei. Children are circling around her, weaving their way through adults, laughing or crying. The sound of arguments in the market trying to bargain a better price soothes her.

_(She's never been one not to find comfort in the common things)_

She's trying to take her time. She has willed herself to stay impassive, rigid, noble. Not to falter infront of him, not to remember what they did by night.

_(She left early today. She couldn't take watching him sleep.)_

What a beautiful disaster they were.

The doors of the Tenth Division barracks stand infront of her. She steadies the pile, takes a breath, and

_(Takes a chance.)_

* * *

Matsumoto feels bored out of her mind.

How on earth he can actually do all this day is a mystery.

_(Then again he grew up way too fast)_

She makes a small paper plane and was preparing to launch it at his tuft of hair. Tongue peeking out in concentration, she was just about to send it flying when the doors opened and the tiny raven haired Kuchiki came inside.

Her Captain's head shot up.

_(Well isn't this interesting)_

Crushing the plane, she waved at Rukia.

"Ne, Rukia-san! Been a while since I've seen you. Whatcha bring?"

_(She made it a point to look at him)_

His face is set in stone. Rukia smiles at her, and then faces the white haired captain.

"Utitake-taichou wanted these reports sent to Hitsugaya-taichou. They're records of the missions conducted in Hueco Mundo and Karakura Town."

He gestures to his desk. She sets down the reports and Matsumoto swears she saw how their touch lingers for a bare fraction of a second.

Rukia looks straight at him, as if

_(as if challenging him?)_

It's gone in a second.

"Goodbye, Hitsugaya-taichou, Matsumoto-fukutaichou."

She'd always liked the girl.

* * *

When she entered, he picked up that muted, calm reiatsu almost instantly.

To say he was surprised was an understatement.

Ever since they had begun this little _tryst_, she'd done her best to avoid him.

_(Not that he really,really cared. He might be lying, a little, but still)_

Yet here she was, standing proud and staring unflinchingly at him.

_(As if nothing has happened)_

When she sets down the reports on his desk, their skin touches each other. Tan on pale.

_(She keeps it there for the slightest time)_

Her eyes are proud, even a little teasing.

_(I did it now, can you?)_

It takes two to dance.


	3. 2: Arabesque

**A/N: ****Thank you so much for the reviews, follows and favourites :3**

**For added flavour, I've decided to tag on the piece of music I listen to when writing each chapter. I suppose it subconsciously influences o.o**

**Now Playing: Sad Wedding Day, Ashley McIsaac**

**Arabesque**

_The first time, they are drunk and broken._

_It might have surprised him that a raven haired noble woman he dimly associated with some Division was drinking next to him._

_It doesn't. He's too far gone._

_Having a bottle does wonderful things to the dull aching weight on broken chests. No wonder his lieutenant loves it so much._

_He takes a swig._

"_My brother should try drinking." Her voice is slurred as she tips her bottle. "It might be better than staring at her picture."_

"_She doesn't even fucking remember me." He adds his own testimony, staring to the depths of the liquid. "She remembers _him_. I visit every fucking day and she remembers him."_

"_I'm an idiot. I'm weak and a failure."_

"_She goes into comas like it's a fucking holiday."_

"_Sometimes I wish I was never adopted."_

_Somewhere in this river of confession, they look at each other and he remembers her heavy lidded eyes. Their violet orbs are dangerous and daring._

_She breaks the silence first. "We're both pretty fucked up, aren't we?" _

_He shrugs. "I guess." _

"_You know what they say"- she grabs his haori – "the broken put themselves together."_

_So they do._

* * *

His headache is killing him.

The arms on the clock tell him he's been sleeping for a good four hours. Eyeing the papers that pile up higher than him, he finds he just can't bring himself to do it. He heaves himself off the chair.

_(Her look haunts him)_

He feels disarmed. He feels naked as he walks into the streets, bathed in the soft glow of an approaching sunset.

He usually visits Momo at this time, but another hour spent next to a girl who likes staring at walls before slipping into her next coma might cause his head to explode.

Instead, he walks to a training ground that is sparse and bare. It's one of Sereitei's oldest and nobody holds affection for the red, pebbly ground with its sharp rocks. He would be left alone.

_(That's not quite true)_

* * *

She tries to understand where she should go.

Trying to ignore the stones that poke at her skin, she tries to wrestle her thoughts.

Should she tell him that they needed to stop?

_(God knows they do)_

That seems sensible.

_(But how can something that good be bad?_

_Fingers that coil through hair slowly. Oh so slowly.)_

She wants out of this game.

She can't do that when her mind and her body divorce.

Closing her eyes, she prepares to get up.

_(Speak of the devil)_

* * *

Well, isn't this awkward.

She's poised in a strange form, almost dance-like, with one arm and leg in the air. Her face has a look of mild bewilderment , with her eyes scrunched up slightly.

"Sit, Kuchiki."

She looks as if she would disobey him but chooses to sit back on the ground. He settles himself next to her, a good distance away.

_(Ironic, how close they draw at night)_

The silence is suffocating him. Everything seems to be closing in. Just when he thinks he can't stand it anymore, she speaks.

"We can't keep doing this."

_(His throat constricts. Just a little.)_

* * *

He doesn't trust himself to speak. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees that she's glaring right at a distant spot infront of her.

"I want to know you. Actually know you."

He hopes his face doesn't betray his surprise.

"I can't do that when all I think about is _what on earth were we doing the other night_."

"I want to be your friend, not your- "

She catches her tongue. He smirks, thinking of what colourful word would have come out of a noble's mouth. Taking a breath, she ploughs on.

"Gosh that sounds _lame."_

"All I wanted to say is that we can't do this anymore."

She stops, then, and looks at him. He can feel her eyes on his face. When the silence extends for too long, she gets up and bows.

"Good afternoon, taichou."

...

_(Probably all for the best)_

Dammit, he just can't leave things alone.

"Kuchiki," he says as he looks at the ball of orange that's setting over the knuckles of the mountain range. "If you have nothing to do tomorrow, perhaps you can help me finish the reports you sent me. You probably have a better understanding of what's in it."

"Hai."

_(Is that...excitement?)_

When he looks back, she's gone.


	4. 3: Shadow Dancer

**A/N: ****Thank you again for the follows and favourites ^^ Even if you're reading up to my measly third chapter, kudos to you too :D**

**In particular, I'd like to thank Tachibana Midori for the critical eye and thoughtful reviews :3 I've even tweaked a bit of the last chapter after reading your review so *COOKIES*~**

**Now Playing: Read All about It – Emelie Sande (playing on Attraction's performance at Britain's Got Talent)**

**Shadow Dancer**

She's on time.

Toshiro raises his head and stares at the shogi doors, making out the smooth outline of her figure silhouetted against the morning light. Matsumoto could learn a thing or two from her.

He watches her as she shifts uncertainly around the frame. Tentatively, she pokes it and cocks her head ever so slightly. After waiting a little, she walks to the sides slowly and fluidly, her legs reaching up in a slight arch before settling in a long stride surprising for her size.

_(Almost as if she's dancing)_

He doesn't realize he can get lost in this shadow dance of small arches and lean strides until he is.

Until his lieutenant, oh _joy_ that she is, bursts through the doors with her obnoxiously loud voice and slams her chest into his face.

Spilt his ink too.

She babbles something about it being a _lovely day_ and _would her taicho pleeeease let her off_ but his eyes are on the shadow dancer who steps in timidly, that confident grace almost gone.

_(Something's broken)_

"Fine, go," he mutters and Matsumoto slams his face in (again) before running out at a speed he wishes she could work at.

He meets the dancer's strong eyes with his own.

"Sit. The reports are here."

* * *

The way he meets her gaze chills her to the bone.

She begins her work, looking through files and ordering them by subject, stealing small imperceptible glances at him.

His eyes are trained on his paper, just as

_(As they were trained on her the other night, when they were alone in his barracks)_

As if his life depends upon it.

"Is there a problem?" he asks her once, not raising his eyes from the report.

"No, taicho."

That comes out a little too quickly.

"What are you doing to the stack?"

Well, she would be damned to be humble with that tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"I'm ordering them by type of mission. Retrieval, recon, assassination. They're quite unorganized. " She meets his scrutiny head on. She learns from the best after all.

He says nothing and she swears the corners of his lips lift up slightly before returning to his brush and ink.

* * *

_Her legs wrap around his waist as he pushes her against the walls._

_The bottle can't hold a candle to his drowning in her. As their lips meet in a fury of desperation to escape their fuckedupscrewedup mess, he loses himself in her tongue and the lavender he smells along her throat._

_What a beautiful disaster._

* * *

She is organized, industrious and focused.

_(Perfect)_

Their silence is comfortable, almost the silence between friends who have known each other for decades.

_(He dares to hope so, anyway)_

He does wish she would speak, though. Didn't she say-

"How is Hinamori-san?"

His head whips up to meet her questioning eyes.

"She is still in a coma."

"Aah."

She drops her gaze to her work and the silence now suffocates him.

"How is Kurosaki?"

In an instant he knows he has made a mistake. She does not look up at him and stays silent for long enough he wonders if she forgot he asked anything.

"I don't know."

Her voice is small, a broken whisper.

_(She's broken and it isn't for him)_

Her form seems to slump as if a great weight has been lifted off her to confess it.

"I've never known after…that."

He leans back and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"You could ask to go to the human world."  
She scoffs.

"My brother will not hear of it. He tells me it's time for me to get _settled_."

"Settled?"

"Marry me off somewhere, I suppose. To some noble clan for an alliance."  
The room closes into him. He wants to get out but to leave her would be unthinkable, not when she is broken and slumped.

"He doesn't let me sit an exam to become a seated officer and my captain goes along with it because I'm the weak link here, I'm supposed to be protected and shielded and moved around-"

She looks helpless. Her shoulders shake and he's caught in a juxtaposition of wanting to help and leaving space.

Almost instantly, the mask of polite indifference is back on.

"I apologise, taicho. I will continue working now."  
The smile she gives him almost breaks his crossroads.

_(He's seen into her _soul_, it must have meant something)_

She leaves a few minutes later.

Watching her walk out reminds him of the shadow dance earlier.

_(He can't stand to watch her now, the reflection of himself that she is.)_

He makes up his mind.

* * *

Kuchiki Byakuya likes his afternoons inside his division.

He hates going outside in the oppressive heat to mingle with the swarming crowds of people.

He also likes his afternoons alone.

"Kuchiki-taicho, you have an audience."

"Who is it?" he demands with more than a fair share of impatience.

_(No one said life is fair)_

"Hitsugaya-taicho of the Tenth Division."

Well, isn't _that_ a surprise.


	5. 4: Lead and Follow

**A/N: ****This chapter is a revised version of Lead and Follow. I wonder what exactly I was on when I wrote that but it looked like crap when I got enough hours of sleep ._.**

**Special thanks to Tachibana Midori for touching on something very vital and being perfectly honest with me, so much so that I stopped working and hopped onto the computer instead. I hope this recovers some of the track it's lost (: Thank you so much for your follows and your reviews ^^**

**Now Playing: Dance with me – Dario Mariannelli, Anna Karenina Soundtrack (I strongly recommend watching its dancing scene. It's amazing)**

**Lead and Follow**

_The Lead (conventionally the male in a mixed-sex couple) is responsible for choosing appropriate steps to suit the music (if it is an improvised dance), and__leading__the Follow by using subtle signals to complete the chosen steps smoothly._

* * *

There are few things the twenty eighth head of the Kuchiki clan ever registered surprise to.

What the boy-captain of the tenth division had just coolly proposed while reclining on the impeccably fluffed cushions comes quite close to making a dent in that alabaster facade.

"You require my _sister_?"

"As you may well know, my division has registered many a loss."

_(What Toshiro Hitsugaya doesn't make for in height, he certainly does make up for in those eyes)_

"Why you would require _my _sister is beyond me, Histugaya."

The brows knit up momentarily at the impropriety before settling into the calm, intent mask.

"I have observed her skill. While it greatly surprises me that Ukitake has not seated her yet, I suppose it is quite fortunate. Transfers of seated officers are quite troublesome and I could very well use her talent in my own squad."

The boy reclines in his chair, boring his teal eyes into Byakuya's own.

_(This is a game he knows how to play)_

"Has Ukitake approved of this?"

"He did tell me that he was of no disapproval if you approved. Everyone in the Sereitei knows your _esteemed_ position in your sister's life, Kuchiki-taichou."

He's _sarcastic _as well. Byakuya can't imagine from where the _nerve _this white haired prodigy from the districts has mustered came from but it's fast pounding on his head.

He forms a steeple of his hands and stares at the tips.

"What makes you believe, Hitsugaya-taichou, that Rukia would consent to being moved to a division with a captain she hardly knows?"

He's marked a dent, he can see, in the way Hitsugaya's eyes shift with the slightest speck of uncertainty. However, it's gone as soon as it came, replaced with the same focussed stare.

"I offer to train her. I am, after all, the only one with the same nature of enough experience to do so."

_(The best of its kind goes unsaid)_

Kuchiki Byakuya is stuck in a checkmate. The boy had clearly made his case foolproof and there is nothing the Kuchiki can say without -

_(Violet eyes, a frail hand, a promise._

"_Find her," a whisper threads onto the fabric of air._

"_Adopt her."_

_The thread runs out as her hand slips from his._

_Sometimes, when he sees his sister hard at work in the dusty old training ground, and he believes the thread would have spelt something that would make this easier._

"_Love her.")_

"If she consents, I hold no objection."

Hitsugaya bows. "Thank you for your audience."

_Love her._

* * *

Rukia sits demurely outside her captain's office, lightly grasping the hilt of her katana. She rests her head against the hardwood walls and the pictures of today run through her head in the dizzying array Ichigo calls a "movie".

His name pangs her as she remembers how she

_(shattered)_

Acted less than her infront of a man she had vowed she would mend bridges with, start things on a blank slate.

_(A man who traced her skin with his lips, a man whose hair she dares touch only when she knows he's asleep)_

He would think her pitiful now, a crying mess of something that is far too broken to even think of mending.

She can't _stand_ pity.

_(Oh but she deserves it)_

"Rukia. You may come in now."

* * *

Ukitake Joshiro feels tired and drained. This is no news, really, but today his heart tugs in a strange way as he admits the small Kuchiki into his office.

Perhaps he is curious; perhaps he is heartsick that it is time for one of his oldest officers to move on.

_(He knew the look on Shiro-chan's face when he came around; the intent, serious gaze with the flat tone that betrayed nothing.)_

Here she was, his talented, pretty-in-her-own-way officer standing perfectly in attention.

_(The girl must relax sometime)_

"Rukia. Sit down."

She looks at him uncertainly before walking to the chair and taking a seat.

"It seems you're in for a transfer!" He tries to sound happy, he really does. The girl looks positively mortified.

"Transfer? But where?"

"The Tenth Division."

He watches her carefully but she betrays nothing.

_(What a pair they make)_

"On what grounds, taichou?" Her voice is level and indifferent.

"It seems that Shiro-chan has taken a liking to you. He wants to train you to fill his third seat post."

A mix of emotions flit in and out of her face: confusion, delight, even hostility.

"Rukia. You understand your brother will not make room for someone like me to hope to convince him. I'm sick and frail and hardly in a position to train you for this exam. Not, of course, that you need it."

He feels gladdened with the warm spread of glow that suffuses her skin.

"This is likely to be your best way up. He has offered to train you _personally._ We all know how picky he is."

Her face takes a frosty tinge.

"I need some time to consider this, taichou. May I have leave ?"

Ukitake sighs. His heart tugs.

"You may."

* * *

She walks as fast as her legs permit her to, away from the stifling room that threatened to collapse on her when she heard.

_(Tenth Division, Shiro-chan has taken a liking to you)_

She feels revolted. Bile rises in her throat and she fights her best to keep it down. He had _pitied _her and she had _asked _for it.

Her limbs jumble and she's racing until-

* * *

Toshiro doesn't expect the way his arms encircle her when she trips over his foot and guide her into him.

He doesn't expect her icy glare and the flame of self hatred he knows so well rise in her eyes.

"I don't want your pity."

Her tone is icy, biting, but ice cannot cut ice.

"You seem to be mistaken, Kuchiki."

She disengages from him and wraps her arms around herself.

_(It stings)_

"It was a moment of weakness, taichou. I do not want your pity."

She strides with the sense of panic, of fear, of everything he's so familiar with.

"Shiro-chaaaan," Ukitake bursts outside, holding a bulging bag of sweets and a dopey smile on his face that drops from his hinges as Toshiro strides past him.

"Ah, well." The older captain sighs. "More for later!"

Toshiro pretends to ignore as he follows the scent of the monster that has infested her and him, whose blood leaves a trail behind her trembling feet.

* * *

She draws her katana in an arc, slicing the dry mid-afternoon air.

_(His eyes, teal and cold; his arms, so damnably warm)_

She pushes away images of her brother, images of Ichigo, images of _him_.

She hates pity; she hates for that which is the only thing she can ask.

* * *

He makes his way to her slowly, feet quiet and reiatsu muted. Her energy is in a torrent, her lithe form tensed and coiled, her sword clasped tightly in an iron grip.

He stands behind her, pressing his arms against her stomach and back, straightening the proud spine. Placing his hands on hers, he guides her stance into something poised and elegant.

_(Something like the shadow dancer)_

She looks angry and

(relieved?)

Resists in his firm grip until she relaxes.

She closes her eyes.

"_Mae, Sode no Shirayuki."_

* * *

His touch is not electrifying anymore.

Perhaps that is what comes of a guilty pleasure. They grow stale.

Except he's not stale, not really. His hands are rough and callused- the hands of a soldier, a general – but they uncoil her grip, they bleed away her tension.

He straightens her spine, he reminds her of her _pride_, how she will not _beg._

That is why, when she meets his teal eyes with eyes of anger, she felt the sense that his essence is glaring into her own.

Uncoiling springs. Bleeding away monsters.

She understands it is not pity he saw. He saw the stream of confessions they shared over the bottles of sake, the pain they willed away with sighs and moans.

She understands.

His hands still on her own, her coils unloosened.

"_Dance, Sode no Shirayuki."_


	6. 5: Ländler

**A/N: I'm thrilled you loved the last chapter-it certainly took more time than the usual! It was much longer. O_O**

**As ever, thank you for even being interested in this small story ^^**

Now Playing: Chasing Cars – Snow Patrol (Grey's Anatomy Version) This _really_ influenced me writing this o_o

**Ländler**

_**Definition**__: It is a dance for couples which strongly features hopping and stamping. It was sometimes purely instrumental and sometimes had a vocal part._

The dawn is soft, a shade of deep blue that is caught in the middle of night and day, a shade that can't quite make up its mind.

_(Like her)_

She's early.

Rukia settles on the ground and closes her eyes. She loves the dawn. Its quiet expectancy soothes her, fills her with a kind of tentative optimism. Usually, anyway.

_(Hands that uncoil her grip, arms that straighten her spine)_

Shirayuki had danced for him yesterday.

She would be lying if she said it didn't annoy her at least a little- lately, her spirit had to take more than the usual coaxing to release.

"You were always punctual, Kuchiki."

Enter the man with a soul as cold as his sword, the man who made her dance.

* * *

He leads her to the centre of the ground and stands with his legs slightly apart.

_(She can't help but note that he looks much more human with his haori off.)_

"Draw."

She obeys, forcing her muscles to remember the frame they took yesterday, a frame they took almost as if they were born for it.

His brow furrows a little as he holds his own.

"Straighten your spine. Relax your shoulders."  
She tries, she really does. She just finds it very difficult when her head keeps flying to the _uncoiling, the bleeding the straightening the uncoiling_

She feels hands and press gently on her shoulders until they give way.

"Close your eyes. Remember you are here to win."

_To win,_ what a joke. She had done nothing but _lose _her whole life.

"Open. Let's spar."

* * *

He understands she loves evasion.

She hops from one foot to the other, dodges, ducks: one moment she is near; the other she isn't.

When she _is, _they are so close he can _smell _her. The soft muted scent of lavender laced with sweat of the fight.

It drives him a little too far on the other side. After half an hour this way, he can't stand the scent, the way she floats in his grasp almost teasingly only to disappear. He corners her to the gaunt tree at a shady corner of the ground, hoping to finish it off quickly before he does something he regrets.

She realises what he's doing as soon as she glances back. She hops to every light stamp of his foot, trying to divert him offcourse and failing as soon as he lands as fast as he can onto his own course. It's dizzying, how close they are and how far away the damned tree is.

He finally corners her to the bark. She attempts to duck until he forces his sword through the bark on the side of her face, using his other one to guard the other side.

Apparently, he hasn't considered that this would just cocoon them and make everything much worse.

She's heaving, sweat beading off her pale skin and running down the expanse of her throat. The smell is _unbearable_ and her eyes, bewildered at this cage , exasperate him.  
It stays this way seemingly forever.

_(He almost gets lost in it)_

Until she ducks under his arm and hops away.

_(As it was, it will be)_

* * *

She finds herself thinking of Momo as his feet stamp and his body winds around her, their swords clanging and singing.

How is he with her, she wonders.

Clang.

_(Does he speak softly to her?)_

Sing.

_(Does he love her?)_

Stamp.

_(What would he be like to love?)_

Hop.

_(How does he feel?)_

After all, he's an enigma to her. Like a fascinating experiment.

She feels the cold metal against her throat.

_(Checkmate)_

* * *

They have a few minutes to rest before heading to the barracks. He runs a hand through his hair as the warm sun blazes onto his skin.

"You need to work on your relaxation."

Her head shoots up and her expression is so endearingly confused he wants to laugh.

"You also need to focus on your attacking. Your evasion is admirable but not enough to get you by against something stronger than average."

"Like you? With all due respect, sir, I do believe I held up passably."

His lips twitch up in a bare smirk.

"Well played. Come along, we may be late enough for Matsumoto to gloat over."

She laughs-the tiniest bit, a tingle- and nods.

.

The Seretei is beginning to wake up. The market places are slowly dotting with sellers and their produce, their gravelly throats screeching as they clear them to shout their day away. Men emerge from shady corners of gloomy buildings with the guilt of the night fresh on their groggy faces and mothers tug their sleepy children to the stalls.

"Taichou, how is Momo-san?"

He freezes.

"S-sorry, I didn't mean to intrude, I was just-"

"Calm down, Kuchiki," he sighs. Her fluster is sort of cute. "She is...unstable. Her consciousness doesn't last for long but Unohana hopes it will improve."

She's quiet and he thanks whatever diety exists that she did. He can't deal with Momo and her associated mess in his head.

"Are _you_ okay, taichou?"

He doesn't know how to answer. It occurs to him no one bothered to ask him this question-he hasn't been expecting them to- and understands that it's difficult to think of an answer.

"I am perfectly fine, thank you."

His biting remark silences her. The silence is tense, caught, unbearable. This silence is toxic to them. It's _always_ toxic and he hasn't learnt to be immune to it.

"I don't know how I feel, Kuchiki. I simply prefer not to think of it."

"I understand."

He knows she does, this evasive, violet eyed girl.

.

Matsumoto launches herself at Rukia when they enter, gushing a hurried stream of words that had something to do with him being an _icy jerk _and _finally being saved._

He would have reacted had he not been watching her.

Till now, he had not known the weight he carried by keeping quiet about Momo. He wasn't a very talkative person; he preferred to keep things to himself and regarded sharing of his _feelings_ close to obscene.

Yet here he was, watching her being suffocated and nearly killed, her eyes a little deranged but _alive, _her complexion sweaty but bright.

He feels free for the first time in ages.


End file.
